Silver drops bestow a calm upon me;
Autumn has come, and each thing goes slowly.

Let those raindrops succumb to the World's lips,
So the World's noise will shut up finally!

Don't blame the jewel for unpolished shapes,
Blame her wicked and rich lapidary.

A face that shines bright but who is no star,
Has too darkness, who's illusionary.

Autumn arrived and flocks of cranes leave us,
While Ruyâ'î rests in his reverie.

Dracula walked a bit after day,
Until he saw really far away
An ugly maiden wearing a cross,
Who never did clean or never floss,
He said: 'Evilness! Don't cross my way!'

Dreams come through.

Without a thought, they called me lame,
But they walked weird, without a shame.

From the thorns come forth a beautiful rose,
From chaos comes forth a luminous star,
The gloomy rain is the cause for rainbows,
And Ibrahim came forth out of Azar.

Shimmering and glittery clothes,
Upon embroidery glows.
In shapes of roses and lilies,
When touched by sunbeams each one grows.

I loved your cypress-eye from the old days,
And the glance who was shy from the old days.

Eyes of emerald were scratched by the world,
And I can't see its cry from the old days.

Your lips and voice remained the same delights,
Yet lack the smile and sigh from the old days.

The blush became white, the giggle a nod,
I don't get that reply from the old days.

The game of love has no rules anymore,
No coin, no card nor die from the old days.

Each thing from the past becomes desirous,
Both the truth and the lie from the old days.

Mâhî, lets get all our old friends back here,
Our own style lets apply from the old days.

You say: 'Envy' and I say: 'give them more!
Give them much more than they had before!'

Colors of eyes will never change,
But only what they can perceive,
That ranges from normal to strange,
From happiness to downward grief.

This summer air carrying sweet perfumes,
Of the youths and lasses,
Coming off the elaborate costumes,
Of new fashion's masses.

The fair views are waiting to be captured,
Artist minds enraptured,
Into the bright spring  each camera zooms,
With transparent glasses.

All this curious and lovely asking,
A romantic setting,
Leading to melancholic, soothing glooms,
Who’re put in strange classes.

One glance was stretched into a reverie,
With bliss in memory,
Like sunbeams through thin curtains in dark rooms,
And slowly it passes.

Here summery embroidery's read,
Mâhî's line is his thread,
And his imagination is what blooms,
Pages are canvases.

I do not want to part from your sweet smile!
(Who blesses me sweetly with soothing bliss)
Even though I know it is for a while,
'Twas not enough for me, that parting kiss.

I will go far away, the road is long,
So far away from you, for quite a long time,
Thus I want you to listen to my song
Of separation's woe, weaved with a rhyme.

But oh! there is something: a light called hope,
Who's my dear friend, usually at my side
When rest and peace are near, so I can cope
With all the pain, like breathing oceans wide.

Although I'm far away on my vacation,
You stay in my binding imagination.

زلف سیاه زنجیر جنون شد
دل حیرت زده من مجنون شد

یعقوب و یوسف و زلیخا عاشق
ای جان, سر ا پا, همه دنیا عاشق
بی مهر و محبتی, دو عالم مردست
هر زنده، که مخلوق خدا را، عاشق

هر موج نگاه و خنده ها زیبا است
از یار سخن لب شفا زیبا است
ای دوست چه عجب که بیوفا زیبا است
این عشق و حال مبتلا زیبا است

You shift in shapes like poems change their feel,
Yet you are still remaining really real.

Beyond that bitter, grudging and vile lip,
Who only spews and is covered with pride,
There lies more when you make it with love flip,
Like an old coin who has another side.

The rain does fall upon the street,
Of Flushing bright at night,
The place where grey concrete does meet
With crystal droplets bright.

Around the crowded corner late,
There're signs with neon lights,
With crowds who view, who conversate,
While longing for new sights.

Upon the lengthy crowded lane,
The people roam around,
While skies are pouring tender rain,
Along the city sound.

The signs describe the tasty foods,
So much and more to pick,
The nightly times do set some moods,
Attracting people quick.

I'm singing songs about this place,
At early twilight times,
About its sights, about its ways,
So happily with rhymes.

The olden buildings are combined,
With lights of bright neon,
Who're making pasts with now aligned,
Like the poet Gihon.

A ngel
U nique
D ainty
R ighteous
E legant
Y ears

H eroine
E loquent
P riceless
B eautiful
U NICEF
R ise
N oble

I see decay and death in middle youth,
Remembering the shroud by each gray strand.

My heart is restless now, without an aim,
Because this is not what I once had planned.

I cannot speak the tongue I want to speak,
And cannot find a soul who'll understand.

A tune of future funk does play,
Perhaps from a dreamy city.
A soft, a smooth voice does narrate,
Perhaps bout a gleamy city.

I do hear stories about much:
Before my eyes I see the lanes,
The cute couples walking around,
The neon-lights and falling rains.

Like a gargoyle on cloudy days,
It's hard to stop and to refrain
Form pouring all this gloomy rain
Freely around this marketplace.

Beauty and elegance does lie
Within each move and act of them,
While passing by each looking eye,
Styled with a flower-diadem
Where each petal shines like a gem
Whenever fondled by moonlight,
Or appearing in-front eyesight,
Decorating the rainy streets,
Where they walk at day and at night,
While this world of them flits and fleets.

This flower-tradition should stay,
Of pure entertainment with smiles,
Who's to History a gateway,
To find the ancient arts and styles,
Or else it will take us much miles
To return to the fleeting past,
Who for a small portion does last
Particularly in their own being
Who's almost replaced by the fast
Roads who are all from past fleeing.

We are the People of the Heart, the kings,
Without the crown, the throne and golden rings.

The morning-bird may call its mate at dawn,
I hear something different when it sings.

The world mourned the summer, but I have felt
The rest of falls, the madness of springs.

Tomorrow is still far away from us,
Today's today, let us see what it brings.

From north to west, from east to west each time,
O world, you pulled me with your locks as strings.

Imprisoned in the garden of illusions,
I picked the flower-leaves and made my wings.

I am Mahi, the poet who saw meanings,
Since times immemorial, in many things.

The moon-faces walk by as the rain falls,
Noticed by every eye as the rain falls.

Strangers greet the flowers of art and silk,
Silence is their reply as the rain falls.

Tea houses and lanterns light up the streets,
While blossom petals fly as the rain falls.

Stillness is the answer to my question,
No voice, no haw nor sigh as the rain falls.

Gihon remains longing to their reply,
Will they answer his 'why' as the rain falls?

Glitters on the bags at night do shimmer,
While the eyes with tiredness do glimmer.

White gauzy smoke is blown through the lily,
Floating on air,
Fondling leaves and dewdrops who're glittery,
A view so rare.

On a picture elegance is enjoyed,
A Polaroid,
Presented in a silver-gallery,
Who's gloomy ne'er.

With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon,
White as the moon,
Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery,
With flowers there.

Like gossamers this elegance's tender,
Lit and slender,
Shining at the afternoon silvery,
Which does not flare.

O Mâhî, this form is a web of rhymes,
Who slowly chimes,
With threads we're finally stitching poetry,
Crafted with care.

De postbode komt
met een tas vol brieven
maar geeft maar een brief.

In deze druppel
die hangt aan een druivenblad
is zo veel te zien.

Rest
is what
these lovers
desire, not
Work.

Henna adorned your hands,
Playing with my feelings,
But also with others -
I caught you red-handed..

A gleaming view above Hong Kong,
Narrates much delight of Hong Kong.
Mâhî hasn't visited there,
But yet still he does love Hong Kong.

There are many ideals upon the earth,
Who're praised for utmost truth, without a flaw,
Taught to the ignorant childeren since birth,
Meant forever to be a sacred law.
Today they said, "it is forever going,
It can't be wrong in this lasting design!"
A thing that history is never showing,
Which displays the ruins of church and shrine.
I can't follow idols of fickle men,
Adjusting agendas each day and night,
Not written down by light-scattering pen,
And not commanded by Divine Might.
    Let the world spin, again a thousand years,
    And they will fade away, from hopes to fears.

Had your thoughts been more pure like your skin,
As bright as the diamonds on your soft wrist,
Had you been more away from fault and sin,
Or giving each action a cunning twist,

And had you been more noble than fine art,
More modest like a meditating monk,
From desirous fame and names apart,
And not on an uncontrollable lust drunk,

Your style would have been much more prettier,
And pleasing to look at – without a doubt –
Both the inside and the exterior,
People would not see you as a washout.

But you'll not change until you see that rules
Shape prettiness right, like forms do to jewels.

So many examples of charm you'll find,
So many questions in my youthful mind.
If faces were the essence of the soul,
Then pretty ones would always have been kind.

Aflame and burned, the world's so mad
With many things, while you're so glad
With little things of mighty grace,
So innocent, of nights and days.

The thought of sleep enters my mind,
    But far away, just like the dawn.
I mess around with things I find,
    Devoid of any rest or yawn.

The thing we do have in common,
Are eyes that once wanted to weep,
While the moon had not her veil on,
And while we could not fall asleep.

I can't sleep and
the clock is mocking me:
tick-tock tick-tock
'You can't sleep,
neither do I,
But I don't need it
Yet you do, apparently!'

O Pen, write it all down before it leaves,
It's rude not to save what the heart receives.

I think you are the only one,
    Who’s normal in my busy feed.
In crowds, my affection you’ve won,
    And are the one who I do need.

They post those pretty, prideful pics,
    While you just share so modestly,
Upon a day from one to six
    Pictures who are so glittery.

You have some friends who post like you,
    Dainty with their beautiful styles,
With pastel pink and pastel blue,
    Evoking love, evoking smiles.

Thank you, my distant star-like friend,
    Who I know only through my phone,
This with my peace to you I send,
    While I do stay to you unknown!

Sometimes a lively joy or woe in the world,
Sometimes as hidden clue or show in the world.

Pretty embroidery in a film of yore,
Is presented as a lithe glow in the world.

The sprightly rehearsals and laughing did go,
But moving pictures did not go in the world.

The breezes at the dawn are spread around soft,
In the cool morning did they blow in the world.

Mâhî, again a small gazel was written,
Who is softly sharing a glow in the world.

It's a rose-garden of cries and pain here,
Yet for roses to bloom you need rain here.

The songs of sadness and madness are too weak,
Compared to this feeling they're too sane here.

Beauty lies in eyes of the beholder,
So this may be gold or an ink-stain here.

Thank God for poetry! There are no rules.
Write this in prose, and you'll be insane here!

O Mâhî this sad-talk is not the way;
Count blessings, there's no time to complain here!

Like the whole world through love I write,
To sight, to smell, to love I write.
All these words are here like a couple,
Oh drunken heart; you love, I write.

Walks at
nocturnal times
in the light of lampposts
trough out the beautiful city
to chill.

The reason why the luminous moon glows,
Is because of kisses who the sun blows.

An ecstatic joy is like a sweet breeze:
Suddenly it comes and suddenly goes.

When you have nothing to tell a stranger,
Mention stars; of their beauty each eye knows.

O ignorant one! You do much good deeds,
A cure on sad hearts your sweet smile bestows.

While the enemy shoots at his brothers,
Poor Mâhî seems to adore their arrows.

The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.

A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.

I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?

She spoke to me when it was quite,
In a silky voice late at night,
With hair so dark like skies at dusk,
Perfumed perhaps with scents of musk,
Saying: 'Don't hurry to get right.'

My loyal wife is gratefulness.
My brother in-law is patience.
And when they are away at night,
Melancholy is my mistress.

Line of Faith in the Red Sea divides us,
Yet we both believe the same Line guides us.

My brother was confused when he saw me,
I take it that the veil of names hides us.

If reaching the high skies stands for success,
Then it is the emptiness that prides us.

You won't sight a clue in darkness and light,
There's no finding Him while He asides us.

Hey Mahvî, wide vision like horizons;
There is much more going on besides us.